Awake before dawn, I am draped in a shawl of melancholy. It settles like a fine mist as I emerge into the half light, stranded between sleep and wakefulness. It seeps in through my pores, infiltrating my being. There's nothing I can do but wait, as it gently evaporates, and like a soft cloud sails away on the wind of this new day.
"The moon lives in the lining of your skin. " - Pablo Neruda